


the price of your greed (blue)

by pastel



Series: closer, closer, i’m closer (to you) [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, M/M, Pre-Slash, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastel/pseuds/pastel
Summary: "Subjects in that study chose between two stimuli, each associated with either a high or low probability of money and a high or low probability of pain. Thus when subjects faced a possible monetary gain they had to take into consideration the ‘cost’ of receiving possible pain when making their choices."AUTUMN 2082, EARTH 3 SUBLEVEL 5—Renjun wins a race.





	the price of your greed (blue)

**Author's Note:**

> trying something new... hope u enjoy. shoutout to niz for being my second braincell and melissa for being the speediest n most accommodating beta on the planet.
> 
> title is from blood // water by grandson  
summary quote is from the root of all value by levy and glimcher

Renjun aligns the rhythm of his processor with the thrum of the engine under him. He’s already plugged into the bike, but he’s learned this helps, becoming one with the machine. They say that this is why human racers can never match bots—once Renjun is hooked up, he and the bike are one and the same.

Humans, they still worry about themselves when they’re in the driver’s seat: _Will this turn kill me? Can I accelerate here and make it out alive?_

Bots, on the other hand, have no such concern. They have one command: to win. Life and death don’t really matter when you’re not alive in the first place.

Renjun knows this. Yukhei knows this. That’s why they _win_.

He exhales and the bike revs under him. The others beside him, in line at the very bottom of the world, are doing the same.

In their reflections on the wet, black asphalt, Renjun watches his competition. He’s only worried about two of the other racers: Lee Jeno and Park Jisung. Neither of them are Gen-One bots like he is—Jisung is actually last year’s model, only recently cast to the wayside by his original owner for any of a million reasons—but they’re the only ones who stand a chance of beating him.

Jeno, in particular. He fits exactly the scenario Renjun was thinking of earlier. Lee Donghyuck says _go _and means _win_, and Jeno’s processor focuses on nothing else. 

The commentators call Jeno a daredevil. A madman. 

Renjun knows he’s not a _man_ at all.

Yerim, the escaped maid bot who now makes an unbelievable sum of money as their flag girl, gets into position.

“On your mark,” her sugar-sweet voice is amplified so loudly Renjun thinks it echoes off the ceiling. He takes a deep breath in, feels his bike vibrating under him.

“Ready.” 

He glances at Jeno beside him. His helmet, painted with a burning sun, hides his face, but they make eye contact. Both their systems register it.

“Set.”

Renjun turns back to the road, disconnects his processor from all outside networks and shuts down every program except those necessary to keep him going as fast as he possibly can on this bike. He can’t have any distractions.

Sight, touch, sound, the algorithm telling him to win—and, his secret weapon.

He leaves his bounded rationality simulator on.

He can’t talk, he can’t breathe, he can’t smell anymore, but he can _think_, and that’s all the difference.

_“Go!”_

The world bleeds into streaks of color. Black, purple, blue, red.

Orange—_Jeno_—surges ahead of him. 790 kilometers per hour.

First corner coming up.

Renjun slows down 2.5 kilometers and draws back into the middle of the pack.

Suddenly—hard right.

The racers between him and the barricade don’t even see him coming, their algorithms maneuvering them further and further and further towards the inside until they—

_Crash!_

Seven racers out, Park Jisung included. Jeno is 4.8 meters ahead.

Second corner. He bides his time.

Smooth, smooth, _fast_.

Third corner passes. The other racers have fallen behind.

It’s just the two of them.

Renjun accelerates. He’s going 830 and driving dangerously, swerving back and forth and back and forth like a sine wave, catching only the smoothest parts of the road. His bike aches. This is the closest to pain he’s ever felt.

He pushes just a little bit harder.

Jeno is the y-axis and Renjun is coming in for impact.

He digs himself into the seat. Wiring goes soft. Coming in from the right.

Jeno speeds up, thinking Renjun is trying to pass him.

He’s not.

Renjun’s front wheel nudges Jeno’s back wheel for 0.002 seconds, faster than the human mind can process. 

But it’s enough.

Renjun takes control of his bike, sudden slower rotation of his front wheel sending him into a spin, but he’s already turning in so it’s easy, easy, _easy_—he rides with the inertia, lets it push him down against his bike, and then—he’s back on track. Alone in the front.

Because Jeno was not so lucky. His front wheel spun faster than his hind, slowed by Renjun’s interference. He was locked into his bike, and so they were both thrown forwards, somewhere, at a speed only the cameras and other bots will catch. Renjun sees the burning sun logo streak past like a comet in the sky, hears the crunch and scream of metal on metal.

He crosses the finish line alone.

Renjun’s won. They’ve won.

He pulls in at a lazy 70 kilometers per hour—one tenth of his average speed during the race.

Mark is the one waiting for him instead of Yukhei, but Yukhei isn’t normally at the finish line anyway. 

He’s usually collecting his winnings, by then.

“Renjun, you—” Mark starts as soon as Renjun’s taken off his helmet, but his eyes aren’t on Renjun. He’s watching Lee Donghyuck disentangle Lee Jeno from the wreckage of his bike. Renjun brings all his systems back online. The odor particles in the air are consistent with metal, melted plastics, and suddenly human stress-sweat. 

“Why did you do that, Renjun?” Mark says at last, eyes dark, left hand rubbing at the tattoo of a cross on his other arm. Renjun doesn’t say anything—Yukhei is walking back with the bag of prize money in his hands. That says enough.

The corners of Mark’s lips quirk down 0.5 centimeters. Renjun feels compelled to say something, the urge to defend himself.

“It’s my job, Mark,” he says, instead.

Mark sighs.

“Good job, Renjun!” Yukhei’s voice is booming as always, and it shatters the tension in the air like the asphalt against Lee Jeno’s plastic outer shell at 700 kilometers per hour. His hand lands heavily against Renjun’s back, sending his processor whirring a little louder in his chest. Yukhei’s grin matches images of predators at a higher percentage than it usually does. 

“We _won_, Markly!” He cheers, shaking the bag above his head. Mark offers his friend a weak smile. He looks nauseated, watching Donghyuck scowl at Yukhei’s obliviousness. 

“I’m going to go recharge,” Renjun says, because he doesn’t know what to do in this situation, and because his battery level is flashing dangerously low in the corners of his vision. He doesn’t want to reboot today. 

“I’ll come with you,” Mark offers too quickly. 

Renjun wants to say no, but he can’t, primary operatives blocking the words from his mouth. Instead, he turns on his heel into the depths of the garage, leaving Mark to follow him.

Once they’re both ensconced in the darkness of the garage’s twisting, greasy hallways, Renjun feels Mark’s hand wrap around his wrist. Renjun keeps walking, and Mark doesn’t slow him down—or let go.

“Renjun,” Mark says, “Won’t you come with me?”

His system registers Mark’s tone of voice as _begging_.

It also notices a puddle of engine oil 0.23 meters ahead of them.

“I’m not that kind of bot, Mark,” Renjun replies as mechanically as he can. “I wasn’t built for sex.”

They reach the charging room and Mark catches up to him, blue light of the charging pod illuminating his face. He almost looks more robotic than Renjun does right now, mouth a flat, tight line and skin the color the sky used to be. 

“You weren’t built for this, either,” Mark breathes, finally letting go of Renjun.

He gets into the pod and closes his eyes. The sight of Mark fades away into blue, blue, _blue_.

**Author's Note:**

> contact me on [twt](https://twitter.com/jenorising) & [cc](https://curiouscat.me/uglyfics)
> 
> leave a comment or kudo if u enjoyed! thank u much ~___~
> 
> oh also jeno isn't dead just injured lol


End file.
